His Wild Kiss

by Heather Marie Adkins

  His Wild Kiss

  His Kiss Series, Book 1.5

  When her father died, Addy LaBarre became kikua — leader — of her wolf pack. Now five years later, she still doesn’t feel like she knows what she is doing. Her confidence is tested when a rival pack moves on her territory.

  Wate Jackson is a practitioner of Wild Magick, training to take over his father’s leadership role of the clan. When his people learn of the wolf pack’s predicament, they propose to repay an old debt by offering their help.

  It doesn’t take long for Wate to realize the beautiful Addy is much stronger than she thinks. When the two of them come together, the Wild Magick ignites, and anything is possible.

  His Wild Kiss is a twelve-thousand word novelette that originally appeared in the January 2015 publication of Wickedly Exotic Winter Erotic Wonderland anthology.

  His Wild Kiss: His Kiss Series, Book 1.5

  Copyright © 2015 by Heather Marie Adkins

  Published by CyberWitch Press, LLC

  Louisville, KY

  cyberwitchpress.com

  cyberwitchpress@gmail.com

  First edition, published in the Wickedly Exotic Winter Erotic Wonderland Anthology, January 2015

  Second edition published August 2015

  All rights reserved.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

  In layman’s terms: Don’t be a jerk. Writing and publishing is the author’s career. Support their art by buying their books at their very affordable prices. Don’t steal the author’s blood, sweat, and tears for free from a pirate site. If you did, then go back and buy a book from this author. Legally.

  Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional. The author humbly begs your pardon. This is fiction, people.

  Edited by Jennifer Jeffers|jjeffersediting.com

  Cover Art by CyberWitch Press LLC

  Stock Photo Credit: “young beautiful couple in love (sexy)” © Branislav Ostojic

  Interior book design by CyberWitch Press, LLC

  Author Photograph © 2011 Meagan White|White Photography

  Contact the author at heather@heathermarieadkins.com

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  For Kristin,

  because sometimes you have a connection with someone that transcends anything you understand,

  and a lost connection becomes a re-connection.

  Chapter One

  Addy LaBarre swam up through the darkness and opened her eyes.

  The movement was there: the sensation of lids rising, the muscles around her eyes rippling. Her vision, however, was not there. For a brief, terrifying moment, she thought she was dead. The truly disturbing thing about this particular thought was that she’d had it more times than she could count.

  Like an old-timey movie fading into a scene, her senses began to return. Her vision dotted into existence, blurry but serviceable as black prickled away from the edges. The world was sideways: a vast ocean of tree trunks and brush turned the wrong way, a bed of crunchy leaves cushioning her cheek.

  A deep-jointed ache began in her body, alerting her to the awkward way she lay. Her hands were bound behind her back with what felt like coarse rope. The skin beneath was raw, nearly to the point of numbness.

  And the cold! Holy crap, she thought, shivering. She was naked as a hairless cat and lying in a patch of frost.

  Addy sat, her muscles screaming in protest. Fire raced from her stomach up through her torso. She glanced down, sticks, twigs, and leaves digging into her bare ass, and groaned.

  Three gashes of varying lengths were healing on her torso: one across her right breast and two below her belly button. Blood dried in rivulets on her abdomen, stark and angry. The rest of her pale sheath of skin was mottled with bruises.

  Closing her eyes, she gathered what energy she had left to heal. She could feel her natural healing processes going to work, the skin on her abdomen being knit back together as if by unseen hands. Warmth filled her from head to toe, leaving behind tingles in its wake.

  A moment later, the gashes were gone, as well as the nastiest of the bruises. She took a deep breath and jerked against the ropes, tearing through them as if they were strands of a spiderweb. Sitting up, she fumbled with near-frozen fingers to pull the frayed edges from her wrists. When the dirty length of twine fell away, it left raw, red circlets etched onto her skin.

  Nothing left for that, she thought. She’d used all the energy she had to heal the gaping wounds. A little rope burn was nothin’.

  Addy stood, her movement more graceful than it should have been for a girl who only moments before had been hypothermic and half-bled out. She scanned the area with her grey eyes. She saw nothing but more trees, whispering in the emptiness.

  It wasn’t night anymore, but it was dim enough on the forest floor to appear that way. A cold wind whipped her auburn hair around her face, like ghost fingers cooling her skin.

  Awakening in a forest in a state of nudity wasn’t uncommon for Addy. And it used to be uncommon to be bound and injured. That was before the Hansen pack moved into LaBarre territory and started a dangerous cat-and-mouse game with her wolves.

  The last thing she remembered was transforming to go on a hunt with her brothers. They were determined to track down a Hansen wolf and force him to talk by whatever means necessary.

  Even if the had to kill him.

  Obviously that plan had gone awry. She was lucky the Hansens hadn’t killed her; but maybe they hadn’t realized the white wolf with dappled fur and grey eyes was the clan kikua.

  If they had, she most certainly would never have awakened from the change.

  Addy made her way through the woods, sniffing the air for any hint of civilization. She caught a whiff of diesel and headed in that direction. Within minutes, she arrived at a road. Four lanes and yellow dotted lines proved it to be a well-traveled highway instead of a one-lane country byway to nowhere, common in their corner of Pennsylvania.

  She sank to her knees in the emergency lane, tucked her hands under her armpits — effectively hiding her bare breasts — and waited.

  Goddess knew what she would look like to the next person that passed. Her auburn hair was her crowning glory: ass-length and as bright as the noonday sun. Right now, it was likely accessorized by twigs, leaves, and crawly things, all bunched in a rat’s-nest behind her. Although most of the bruising was gone, she was dirty. Not to mention buck-naked.

  That’s harder to explain the older I get, she thought, sighing.

  She didn’t have to wait long. A small black sedan sped into view, barreling down the lane beneath a tunnel of leafless trees. She lifted an arm and waved, trying to keep her body as tucked in as possible so as not to flash any important body parts. For a moment, she thought it would speed right past her, but it finally slowed, four wheels rolling to a stop some yards ahead.

  Addy was not prepared for the man that slid from the driver’s seat.

  Tall and muscled, with sun-kissed skin even in December. He had huge black eyes above exotic cheekbones and a square jaw. His black hair was long, tied into a small tail at the back of his head so that wayward strands fell forward into his eyes. Beneath his leather jacket, a T-shirt clung to pecs and abs every man would envy and every woman wo
uld want to touch. He loped towards her with an easy grace, the kind of guy who knew how to handle every sinew in his body.

  “Shit, are you okay?” he asked, squatting in front of her.

  Addy couldn’t help herself: her eyes flicked to the way his blue jeans tightened over thick thighs. She herself wasn’t a little girl — tall, but thin because of her nighttime athletics as a wolf. She’d always towered over the guys she dated. This man, though … this man made her feel small and feminine.

  Before she could answer, he removed his jacket and tossed it over her trembling shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she told him, nestling into the warmth his body had left behind on the leather. His jacket smelled like wood smoke and sandalwood. It smelled like home.

  “What happened to you?” His voice was musical and serene. He stood and offered a hand.

  Addy accepted the gesture and came face-to-face with his chest, where a black T-shirt proclaimed PAGANS DO IT IN THE DIRT.

  “I don’t remember. I woke up back there.” Addy waved vaguely towards the woods, aware she was only kinda lying. She knew the Hansen pack had gotten ahold of her; she just didn’t know how.

  “You don’t remember,” he repeated, staring at her. His eyes were piercing, as if he saw right into her soul, and right through her untruth.

  Addy shrugged.

  He raised an eyebrow and motioned to his car. “I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter Two

  Hiawatha Jackson always found himself in these situations.

  Okay, maybe not naked-girl-on-the-side-of-the-road situations, but strange ones, nonetheless. He sometimes blamed his heritage: his entire family, ancient ancestors to present-day, had always attracted the bizarre and unreal.

  He gripped the steering wheel, pulling away from the emergency lane as he shot a discreet look at the woman in his passenger seat. She’d tucked his favorite jacket around her bruised, dirty body. She stared out the window, hiding what had to be the most mysterious and interesting grey eyes he’d ever seen. She was curled against the doorframe like a beaten puppy.

  What the hell had happened to this girl?

  “What’s your name?” Wate asked.

  “Addy. LaBarre,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “Thanks for picking me up. Who are you?”

  “Hiawatha Jackson. Call me Wate.”

  “Where are we?” Her gunpowder gaze slid to meet his then jumped away again.

  “We’re about a mile outside Knockrock. Where do you live?”

  “On a farm off 107.”

  “Put your seatbelt on,” he said, then wondered if he could sound more like a jerk by barking orders at this traumatized woman. “Should I take you to the hospital first? Are you badly injured?”

  Her eyes narrowed in his direction, whether in amusement or consternation, he couldn’t tell. But she reached up and clicked her seatbelt in place before she answered. “No. I’m not badly injured.”

  “There’s dried blood on your stomach.”

  “I just want to go home, please.”

  The sun was bouncing above the horizon like a red beach ball on the waves. Wate cut his headlights and took the first turn-off. He’d traveled these roads since he was a kid, long before it was even legal for him to drive. This road would dump them right onto the girl’s highway. “Whereabouts on 107?”

  Wate was fascinated by Addy’s husky voice as she gave him directions, too distracted by her full, moving lips to really grasp what she was saying.

  Sarah didn’t have full lips. Her lips were two thin, colorless lines, and kissing her felt like kissing a mail slot. Thinking of Sarah reminded him of last night’s fight. Of every damn fight they’d ever had over a period of two years and five break-ups. This time, it was final. No more making up. No more getting back together because he liked her parents, and all of their parents thought they were a good match.

  Finito.

  They settled into silence as he drove. He wanted to make Addy talk, to pull what had happened out of her. She’d obviously been through some sort of trauma, but he couldn’t come to any logical conclusions. Nothing that didn’t make him want to track down the perps and make them pay. For all intents and purposes, she looked like a girl who walked around naked all the time; a girl who just happened to hitch a ride — nude — in his Honda. His thoughts shifted at the inuendo of “riding.” Wate had to keep himself from fantasizing about his passenger’s pale expanse of bare skin.

  He was male. He’d seen what gifts lay hidden beneath his jacket.

  “This is my drive here.” Addy pointed.

  Wate hit the brakes, inwardly grumbling as his tires squealed on the asphalt. She could have given him a little more notice. On the other hand, who the fuck knew what was going on inside her pretty, but potentially deranged, head? He turned onto the driveway, gravel crunching beneath his tires.

  He wound through a forest of pines and halted before an old farmhouse hidden in the trees. It stood two stories with an A-shaped roof, the front dotted with windows framed by bright blue shutters, and a matching door took up throne in the center. Three shallow steps led to a dim covered porch.

  To the left of the house lay an open field where Wate spied a vegetable garden, several grazing cows, and a big red barn falling in on itself.

  “It’s been in my family for years,” Addy said, seeming to recognize his appraisal. “It’s a little run down, but I love it here.”

  As she reached for the door handle, Wate shoved open his own door and hurried around the vehicle. He eased the passenger side open and offered her a hand.

  Addy paused for a nanosecond, looking startled by his open palm, then visibly shook herself. Her skin was silky smooth as she set her hand in his.

  The front door whipped open and a smaller, curvier version of Addy raced outside.

  “OhmigodADDYwherehaveyoubeen??” the girl said, ripping Addy from Wate’s grasp. Gulping in a deep breath, she continued. “I’ve been worried sick. It’s been two days! I’ve called everyone in town!”

  Wate swung his head around to stare at Addy in shock. Two days? What the hell?

  Something flashed in those gunpowder eyes, but again, Wate couldn’t read the expression before her beautiful face smoothed again. “Beth, I’m fine. I need a bath. Will you go run one for me? I’ll be just a minute.”

  Beth opened her mouth, big blue eyes cutting to Wate. He’d thought she was just a teenager, but something in her eyes made her seem infinitely older. She glanced at Addy, nodded, and disappeared inside.

  Addy let out a breath as the door slammed shut. Pressing a hand to her temple, she closed her eyes. “Thank you for your help. If you’ll wait outside, I’ll send Bethany back out with your jacket.”

  “Keep it,” Wate heard himself say, stunned by his own words. He drew his gaze across her face, noting the thin dark arches over her gorgeous eyes, the slight upturn of her nose, and the rosy patches on her freckled cheeks. He knew without a doubt he had to see this girl again.

  Wate extracted his wallet and handed her a business card. “Call me to return it.”

  She didn’t even glance at the card before sliding it into his jacket pocket. “Okay. Good-bye, Wate.”

  Chapter Three

  Beth was tapping her foot faster than a woodpecker boring into an oak tree when Addy stepped through the front door and locked it.

  “Where have you been?” her baby sister hissed, ceasing the tapping but not untangling her arms from their angry position across her chest. Even her knuckles were white. “You’re so irresponsible!”

  “Need I remind you I’m five years older than you?” Addy said quietly, the best defense to her sister’s ire. The universe thought it was funny to give Beth the explosive attitude and Addy the weapon to defeat it. She always joked that the Creator had a sister. “Not to mention I’m your kikua. Don’t speak to me that way.”

  Addy turned away from her sister and trudged up the stairs toward the sound of running water. Her body ached with wild aband
on, and nothing in the world appealed to her more than dropping slowly into a cauldron of hot bubbles.

  “Kikua or not, you’re my sister. I’m allowed to worry and then be mad when you show up covered in blood.” Beth’s footsteps were angry on the wooden stairs as she followed Addy to the bathroom.

  The tub was half full of clear, steaming water, and Beth had turned off the glaring overhead light in favor of a few candles flickering on the wide bathroom sink.

  “I’m not covered in blood.” Addy pulled off Wate’s coat, bringing it to her nose for a long sniff. Sandalwood and smoke, like a Native American prayer tent. The scent was almost erotic. Addy wasn’t sure if it was her wolf or human self that reacted so strongly to it.

  She let the coat fall to the closed toilet seat, and sank into the water with a groan.

  “There are no bubbles,” Addy said, her eyes closed. She could smell Beth hovering over her.

  “Well, excuuuuse me, Princess. I’ve only spent the last forty-eight hours wondering what terrible fate had befallen you.”

  Addy opened her eyes as Beth pulled the Mr. Bubbles from beneath the bathroom counter and squirted an inordinate amount into the water.

  Addy watched the liquid fall in graceful spirals to the porcelain. It wasn’t that she wanted the protection of bubbles to cover her nudity; werewolves didn’t have the privilege of modesty. It was just that she liked sinking beneath a mountain of bubbles and feeling like a child again. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

  “Explanation, please, before I grow old and die.”

  “Ah, if only,” Addy murmured jokingly, dipping her head below the water line. Beth ranted on, her voice turned into a distant rumble by the water.

  Dear Goddess, what if they’d killed me? Addy thought. She listened to the faucet drip, an echo beneath the water. The pack would have had no one else in line for kikua. Her brothers were too wild to be forced into a position of power and responsibility. Beth was too young; she couldn’t even complete her change without crying at the pain. The squabbling as the pack tried to replace Addy would have destroyed many of their best wolves.